The General (Also Entitled: Dorothea Goes Home)

[Osu]

I have a few completed outlines sitting around on my computer and I figure I should get around to writing them at some point, as slow as I am at doing anything. So here we are! Events in this story take place a little while after the conclusion of Lord Brocktree (and there are spoilers, so beware if you haven't read that one yet!)

There were two main things I wanted to investigate when I wrote the outline for this: what happened to Groddil, and Dotti's status as general to the Long Patrol. Dotti in particular, because it seems strange to me Brocktree would name a very young, inexperienced, rather vain creature as the leader to what would become the greatest military force known to Mossflower. He said at some point during the book that she was made of the right stuff, or something to that effect -- but all the same I'd like to catch a glimpse of Dotti as an experienced general rather than a spoilt girl. Cue the story!

Do please critique the heck out of this and don't spare my feelings if anything stands out to you as something to be improved!

*

Chapter One

The sweltering heat that marked summer in the small desert west of Mossflower Wood was markedly high that season. Although life among the dunes could never be described as bustling, that summer — and that day in particular — brought with it a feeling of the entire earth holding its breath, totally subdued beneath the weight of the sun's distant fire.

There was only one break in the stillness of the dunes: a lone figure, a young hare, paused in the meager shade offered by a sand drift. Looking around, it seemed to him the world was made up entirely of unforgiving brown-gold sand and he the sole living occupant of the planet; he felt a small shiver despite the heat and pressed on. Once the hare found his rhythm he nearly flew across the desert, ears blown back and legs cycling with the kind of smooth precision that likened the action of running to poetry. He was still a day and a night away from his destination, but he resolved not to stop when daylight came to an end, as he normally would have: he didn't want to be alone in that ocean of sand any longer than absolutely necessary.

*

An immense badger exhaled heavily as he collapsed into an equally immense chair. The massive window beside him described a flawlessly clear sky over a calm sea, both tinged pink with the slow advent of dawn; if he turned his head just slightly he could glimpse his forge on the other side of the room still glowing as hot as the sun had been all that past season. Fanning himself, he peeled off his heavy forge apron and draped it over the windowsill, answering a light tapping on the door with a gruff, "come in."

An elderly harewife turned the door handle and then bumped the door open with a hip, backing into the forge room with her arms buried under a heavily laden tray, chatting the entire time. "G'morning, Lord Brocktree, thought y'might like some chilled burdock cordial and an early bite o' breakfast; still hard forge work doing, eh? Where are your helpers, still snoozin' away, I'll reckon."

"Blench, good morning," said Brocktree, warmly grateful as he helped himself to a beaker of the proffered cordial. "Yes," he added after knocking back two cupfuls, "and still a lot of work to do yet, more's the pity. Every one of our Patrol is going to need the necessary farming tools if we want to have the groves fully irrigated before we lose any more of the orchards to this heat. My forge assistants have no need to report any earlier than necessary" He added, and indicated with his cup the great anvil, where a lump of solid metal lay in the midst of being prepared for a beating. Lined up along the wall behind the anvil was an array of hoes, pickaxes, rakes, shovels, and a smattering of other gardening necessities in various stages of completion.

"Good grief, it'll take all the rest of the mountain to carry that lot down to the orchards," Blench said, and helped herself to a scone and jam from the badger lord's tray. She perched on the windowsill beside his forge apron and added, "pardon my askin', m'lord, but haven't we got vittles enough to last another four seasons? Why not let the trees wilt if they want to and come back to 'em after winter? Seems like a lot of fuss when you've plenty of gardens and such thriving on the mountain terraces."

Brocktree shook his head slowly, leaning against the window and staring out at the brightening sky. "If we finish those irrigation ditches soon there won't be anything to worry about. You can never have too many supplies on paw, Blench, remember Trunn's horde? It's a shame about this heat, I was hoping to see more hares join up before harvest season, when so many of our forces are already needed in the orchards; but nobeast is fool enough to cross the dunes now."

Blench snorted derisively at the mention of Ungatt Trunn, whom she had helped to defeat in a drawn-out war that concluded over two years ago. "Well I'm sure you don't need to be putting out so much effort during the heat of the day, sah, now it's come 'pon us and all. Care to come down for a proper breakfast? I've got the missie-general making semi-palatable oatcakes now and she's due to report to the kitchens any minute."

Brocktree chuckled, but his response was abruptly cut off by a firm, almost frantic knocking at the forge room door. "Enter," he said instead, anticipating the nature of the petitioner's entreaty.

A lanky young buck strode in and saluted, saying, "sah, first East Patrol running scout reporting, sah!" A fine layer of dust coated his fur and tunic from ear tips to scut, and his footpaws bore the muddy appearance commonly found on recently returned runners; he appeared deeply worn, as if he had run a great distance without resting as he should. Eyebrows drawing together, Brocktree waved the buck out of his salute and into the badger lord's chair. "Excuse us, Blench," he said as an aside, and poured the leveret runner a beaker of cordial while the old cook gathered up her tray and vacated the room without preamble. Although he was positively itching to hear the runner's news Brocktree forced himself to wait while the young buck finished his cordial.

"Now, young sir," Brocktree pressed, his gaze intense, "make your report. Tell me everything."

The young hare met his badger lord's eyes fleetingly, then dropped his gaze and shoulders in one delicate motion. Brocktree's ideas of military discipline and personal form had yet to become popular with all of his hares, especially the younger set; the badger lord let the leveret's posture slide.

"The news is all bad, sah," the hare said. "It's as you suspected. Ol' Trobee sent me back here as quick as he could spare me."

*

Deeper down within the hewn Mountain passages, hares were beginning to come awake and drift out of their rooms and barracks. It was too early for most to be up and about, but the mountain still carried within it the impression of emptiness. A large Patrol of hares had been sent north to the pine groves, and another large force to the south; there was also a smaller Patrol as far east as Mossflower Wood, gone now for almost two seasons. The remaining Mountain force was by no means dangerously diminished, but the empty space where the hares of the absent Patrols had been felt jarringly pronounced for many of the legions of hares not born at the mountain, those who were slowly growing used to living in such close quarters with so many of their fellows.

One such hare, Dotti, dragged her paws down to the kitchens where Blench had sentenced her to spend every other morning learning how to cook something edible. Dotti treated this duty with the air of mutinous disdain that it deserved, and accordingly complained without ceasing about the lessons.

"I mean t'say, why should a patrol bossess such as m'self have to learn to cook, anyway?" she asked nobody in particular on her way to the kitchens. "Oughtn't I to be doing something more blinkin' important like ordering Patrols t'go places an' whatnot, wot?"

Dotti was largely ignored apart from brief polite exchanges and hellos with whatever hares she passed in the corridors: everybeast had grown used to her chunnering on the subject of cooking and gave it no more thought than they would the sound of waves on the beach. She experienced a flicker of hope upon finding Blench absent from the kitchens, but that hope was dashed when her aunt came bustling in shortly thereafter, immediately directing the recently arrived and still-yawning assistant cooks into preparing breakfast for the mountain at large. Sighing, Dotti joined her aunt at the large stone counter that occupied the center of the kitchens.

"Oatcakes again, marm?" Dotti asked without enthusiasm, and pulled a large bowl toward herself. Blench had, once upon a time, thought Dotti capable of learning to make anything if the young un would only apply herself, and accordingly started these cooking lessons with popular dishes such as trifles and casseroles. Dotti had then inadvertently chipped away at the old harewife's expectation of such slowly over the seasons until Blench's only goal now was to have her niece capable of not poisoning anybeast by accident.

"Yes, and mind you don't mistake the flour for salt again." Blench didn't spare Dotti so much as a glance.

Dotti sighed in a very put-upon way and went through the familiar motions of mixing batter. "T'ain't my fault, there's too many ingredients everywhere," Dotti grumbled by way of reply. "If y'only want me to use certain flippin' things then those should be the only things on the counter."

"Salt and wheat flour don't even look alike," one of the assistant cooks, a cheeky maid by the name of Fern, interjected. "We've all got use of the counter, miss, no good complainin' over it. That's arrowroot," she added quickly, whipping out a mixing spoon to knock Dotti's paw away from the offending ingredient.

Dotti turned her nose up and didn't comment further, working in a sulking silence apart from occasional interjections by Blench or another assistant cook. This lasted long enough for a functioning batter to form, but came to a regrettable end after the first batch had been delivered to the ovens.

"How do you manage it?" an assistant cook whispered over an hour later in equal parts awe and dismay from his new place by Dotti's side.

"Wish I could say, old chap," Dotti muttered back, ears still stiff with indignation.

Dotti's oatcakes had not only managed to catch fire while in the oven, but they also formed enough of a flame to thoroughly burn another cook's batch of scones from below. The resulting smoke sent every hare coughing and scurrying to open the doors and vents, and when Blench gamely attempted to remove Dotti's tray from the oven and douse the oatcakes, a strong incoming draft from the doorway blew a few of the flaming oatcakes off the pan and across the counter, where an oil lamp was knocked about and persuaded to spill its contents across the counter and over the floor. In their haste to get away, several assistant cooks bumped into each other or jostled the other working ovens, and somehow more than one hare managed to set their aprons on fire: those were discarded quickly and thrown across the room to join the flaming counter.

With the epicenter of the kitchen burning as merrily as it was, Dotti could not help but wonder how these things were so easily brought about whenever she was involved.

It took Blench several minutes of yelling and swinging a hefty ladle about to get anything resembling order restored, and a half hour later the hares were organized and able to put out the flames. Cleaning up the mess followed, and then restarting breakfast. Dotti was sentenced to scrubbing pans with a guard of two assistant cooks to ensure she didn't find a way to set the dishes aflame, too.

"Oh, well, better to go all the way than nowhere at all," the assistant cook opined philosophically, and went back to drying Dotti's dishes.

*

Dotti was saved from any further discussion or dishes by the arrival of Southpaw, one of her closest friends. She was so happy to have him pull her out of the kitchens ("Orders from the top, marm," he told Blench grimly) that she didn't even question it when he began leading her up toward the forge chamber.

"Where is Bobweave?" Dotti asked after Southpaw had finished laughing at her recount of the morning's events. The twins were rarely to be found apart from one another, so the young haremaid's question was a valid one.

"He's already there," Southpaw said, tipping an ear in the vague direction of the forge room, "with the other senior chappies, the wotsits — officers. His Lordship has called an urgent meeting."

"Whatever for?" Dotti asked, still more happy at escaping cooking duties early than interested in Brocktree's unsolicited summons. "Is this another lecture on discipline and proper military behavior, wot?"

Southpaw shook his head, his normally lighthearted expression growing hard. "No, miss, nothing so good — it's that Patrol that was sent out to Mossflower last season, one of their scouts returned this morning. Seems there's mischief afoot in the east after all."

Dotti lapsed into an uncharacteristic silence, mounting a spiraling set of stairs beside Southpaw slowly.

"Well," she said at last as they drew near to the forge room, "I suppose it's no real blinkin' surprise, wot?"

Southpaw flashed her a toothy grin. "No, miss, and the Long Patrol will have it sorted before long, there's no fear on that point. You will sing for us all once it's over, won't you?"

"Why, yes, of course! Nothing to celebrate another victory like sharing a flippin' verse or two."

"Good grief, miss, I should hope you'll be giving us more than two! Bob and I haven't heard your lovely warblin' in absolute weeks."

"Och, thank heaven f'r that," another voice cut in to the two young hares' conversation: they had arrived at the forge room, where the door stood open. An older hare poked his head into the hallway, an experienced campaigner by the name of Lance. He had originally been one of Bucko Bigbones's mountain entourage but had grown attached to one of the Mossflower maids and remained behind at Salamandastron to marry her. He was, apart from Lord Brocktree and all the hares who had been brought up at Salamandastron, one of the most experienced soldiers on the mountain. "Weel now, Ah hope ye plan on coomin' inside at some point this season," he added, drawing one eyebrow down and standing aside pointedly. Southpaw and Dotti hastened into the forge room.

True to Southpaw's word, Bobweave was already present (and making not-so-subtle motions at Southpaw to back away from their mutual lady of interest or else) along with about a half dozen more hares, most of them older and many Salamandastron born. Evidently Dotti and Southpaw were the last to arrive; once Lance closed the heavy door behind them Brocktree began the meeting without further delay.

"Friends," he said, sweeping the room with his dark eyes and in a single glance commanding the complete attention of every hare present, "I have called you all here because you have been named officers of the Long Patrol. You form the senior administrative branch of Salamandastron, and it is on your shoulders that the decision to act or not act rests, as well as mine. You are the leaders of what will become the greatest military force in Mossflower country and I have every bit as much faith in your warrior ability as my own.

"Some of you have already heard that one of Major Trobee's scouts returned here this morning. The Major has requested assistance in the form of a full complement of soldiers — survivors of the former army of Ungatt Trunn have indeed regrouped and think they can commit murder and mayhem freely as long as it is nowhere near my Mountain. They are incorrect. We have beaten them once before, and we will do so again. The problem lies in the number of hares I can spare for the duty: with Colonel Laurence and his troop helping our squirrel friends in the northern groves and Major Marshall's Patrols tending the orchards in the south, there are not as many hares available to send as I would like.

"The Major believes the vermin foebeast to number about thirty score." Brocktree did not allow the horrified silence which followed this announcement to deter his speech, and went on without pause. "The mountain is well provisioned and Major Marshall's troop is only a day's run to the south. Bearing that in mind, Captains Bobweave and Southpaw as well as Sergeant Stiffener and Colonel Lance will remain here to aid and advise General Dillworthy as necessary, and the Sergeant's patrol will remain behind as well in the unlikely event of an attack on the Mountain. The rest of you and your troops will leave with me at down tomorrow. We will join Major Trobee at the edge of Mossflower and smite the fool foebeasts once and for all: this time I will not allow surrender, nor will I spare them any quarter; if they run, we will chase them down.

"General," Brocktree continued, catching Dotti's eye, "the priority of the fortress will remain as it is: the south orchards must be irrigated, and the gardens and terraces must thrive. I still expect the leveret school to begin operating in full by the end of the season, which is also when I expect to return. A messenger will be sent to inform you otherwise in the event of a delay for my force's part.

"The rest of you will inform and provision your troops and be assembled to march at dawn on the west parade grounds. Questions? Good. Dismissed."

Dotti hovered by the door while all of the older hares streamed out of the forge chamber, hurrying to their duties with the kind of efficient obedience she knew Brocktree wanted to see in every Long Patrol hare, not just his paw-picked officers. After assuring the twins she would be out in two twitches of an ear, the young haremaid watched the chamber doors swing ponderously closed, leaving her alone with Brocktree. She rounded on him.

"Problem?" he asked, eyebrows quirked just slightly.

"I beg your pardon, sah, but what d'you blinkin' well mean by harin' off and leaving me alone to command all of the miscreants you couldn't deem worthy enough for a patrol off in the north or south or east or anyflippinwhere without so much as a by your leave?"

"I wasn't aware I needed your leave," Brocktree said gravely, although his eyes were twinkling in that suspicious way that meant he was trying not to laugh. Dotti scowled at him for his trouble.

"And wot am I supposed to do when the whole lot of 'em decide to mutiny, scoff all the pies 'n trifles an' burn down the orchards on their way out, eh? Did you think of that when you blinkin' well decided to run away to Mossflower?"

That time Brocktree really did laugh. "I beg your pardon," he managed after a moment by way of apology, wiping away a tear while Dotti fumed. "I don't think you'll have anything to worry about from the hares, missie. It's the vermin I'm concerned about; their numbers are higher than even I estimated. I suspect they've been recruiting from wandering scoundrels throughout Mossflower, and if that's the case they'll need to be nipped in the bud. Five settlements, Dorothea — Trobee has come across five farming communities burned to the ground, young and old slaughtered along with the rest. They must be stopped, for good this time."

"I flippin' well know why you're going," Dotti replied snappishly, "but there's no blinkin' reason why you should leave when y'already have colonels and majors and whathaveyous to go instead, wot. You're the badgerlord of Salamawotsit, not the badgerlord of Mossflower!"

"On the contrary, miss; I remain the Lord of Mossflower until my young Boar grows. I must see the days of Ungatt Trunn's misery through to the end." Brocktree's evident mirth faded into something more grim. "And you must learn to command in my absence; with Southpaw, Bobweave, and the Colonel here, and the rest of the officers only a day's march to the south and north, you will be well looked-after, in any case. The vermin foe is more important."

When Dotti said nothing after a moment, he continued, "as I said: upon my return I expect to see the leveret school fully functioning, the farming terraces in perfect order, and the groves to the south fully irrigated. You might work on teaching your soldiers discipline in your spare time, too; I don't expect a complete conversion of this generation but if they don't start shaping up of their own free will the next won't begin in much better form. Keep an eye out for Colonel Laurence's Patrols; they should be returning before the season is out."

"As Patrol Bossess, shouldn't I be the blinkin' one to go while you stay here? Rather think I'd be jolly bad at it, telling some of those big buckos what t'do and all."

"Patrol General, missie; and I would not have given you the title if I didn't think you were capable of performing the duties." Brocktree stirred from his place by the window, approaching Dotti to place a heavy paw on her shoulder. "You'll be quite alright; defer to Sergeant Stiffener's or Colonel Lance's judgement if you need to." When Dotti only sighed heavily, he added, not without a joking air of wheedling, "and of course, you will be far too busy with your duties as General to attend cooking lessons with Blench; those will have to wait until the rest of the force has returned to the Mountain."

Dotti lit up like the sun on a clear summer day and twiddled her ears energetically. "Oh, rather, sah, I should flippin' well say so, settin' up schools, farmin' on the mountainside, and ordering chaps about and such, it can take a lot out of a gel, doncha know, cooking lessons will have to be canceled, terrible shame, wot?"

"So it is, General," Brocktree intoned seriously, "I will return as quickly as I may."

"Oh, take y'time, sah," Dotti waved a paw jovially, thoroughly delighted. "No use in rushing a job involving villainous vermin, wot? Never fear, the jolly old mountain will still be here when you get back, I'll see to that!"

"Thank you, miss. You may have no doubt of my faith in you."

*

The following morning found the selected hares assembled on the west parade grounds less than an hour before the earth tipped wholly into view of the sun. With the early twilight mist yet to burn off the ocean and the sky lit only by a vague red in the east, the hares standing in ranks on the west parade grounds looked eerily threatening in a way they normally did not; the affect was made more imposing when Brocktree strode out to their head, flanked by Lance, Dotti, and the leveret who served as Trobee's scout. Brocktree looked every inch the badger warlord, even though he wore only minimal armor and his massive broadsword strapped to his back. His hares stood to quivering attention as Lance and Dotti took their places on Brocktree's left and right, respectively.

The hares who were to remain at the mountain crowded the great doorway, hung out windows, and perched on the closest ledges and terraces to watch the exit of Salamandastron's first badger-led Patrol. Their faces bore a mixture of envy, concern, interest, and boredom; nearly all of them were present.

"Hares of the Long Patrol," Brocktree began in a clear, commanding tone that did not need to be raised for everybeast to hear. "Today we march for Mossflower and battle. We will be outnumbered, but not outclassed; the vermin of Ungatt Trunn were beaten by us once, and they will be beaten again once and for all." He glanced toward Dotti during the resulting cheer and said only, "General Dillworthy, if you please," before taking his place in the first rank.

Dotti raised a paw, the signal for the flags within Brocktree's company and upon the mountain to be raised. "Gentlebeasts," she called out, repeating a variation of an old warriors' farewell speech Lance and Brocktree had drilled into her the night before, "insomuch as it remaineth my duty to command here, so it is your duty to leave your home and act as your Badger Ruler's right paw throughout the land. You are freebeasts; declare freedom for those who suffer in ##:1162. You are warriors; shelter those who cannot defend themselves. You are hares of the Long Patrol; be not afraid of enemy, nor battle, nor death. You will march, leaving Salamandastron to the sound of the drums of war; and you will march again, returning home to the sound of cries of victory. I expect no less as your General." She took a breath and glanced at Lance, who nodded just slightly.

"Major Sailears, you will lead off, marm." Dotti declared in the greatest relief; her part was done.

Sailears — one of the few hares of Stonepaw's original old guard who still possessed the wit and physical capability to go out on Patrol — called out to her Sergeant, who in turn gave the order to march. Brocktree and the young scout led the column away from the Mountain; and as the hares on patrol entered the dunes they began to sing an old Mountain battle song the original hares of Salamandastron had taught everybeast upon arriving in the stronghold. Dotti stood to attention with her back to the mountain, where the hares who had come to watch cheered their companions' march to the echo.

She remained there watching the eastern horizon long after Brocktree's patrol ceased to be nothing more than a cloud of dust in the distance. He took with him just under three hundred hares; behind Dotti, the Mountain stood occupied by five hares under forty. And for some reason Dotti could not place, the thought of a hundred more hares only a day's run to the north and south did little to quell an unsettling trickle of foreboding at the back of her mind.

Dotti had seen a horde made up of tens of thousands of soldiers, numbers nobeast had ever dreamed possible, defeated by only a few hundred hares and half as many goodbeasts besides. Yet it bothered her to know so few were left to guard Salamandastron. Perhaps, she thought, Trunn had instilled an inappropriate fear within her for such numerical unknowns, in some strange way; and with the strength of the exasperated irritation that accompanied this thought, Dotti dismissed it, turned, and strode back into the Mountain.

*

A rat spat, hurling an apple core blindly into the undergrowth. Another rat, who was forced to duck the missile, threw the first rat a dirty look; he ignored her.

"Five bloody days!" the apple-pitching rat ranted, pacing the confines of his small camp and kicking or throwing things indiscriminately. "That blasted badger will be in sight of the woodlands by evening tommorrer and yer tellin' me yew want another five bloody days to waste on them worthless slimeballs?"

A sharp-featured ferretmaid standing calmly off to the side of the vermin camp allowed the rat a single glance containing only the barest hint of contempt; she was getting used to his screaming fits by now and the cool reproach she normally regarded him with was rapidly converging on outright distaste. She crossed her arms loosely and pressed all of her slight weight against a sturdy sapling behind her, resignedly thinking of how she would be able to tolerate the rat for another week without removing his head.

"Kagan told me to recruit a fighting force of toads, Captain, by whatever means I deem necessary; do I take it to mean you are ordering otherwise in Kagan's absence?"

"No, no, I 'aven't said that!" the rat cried, swinging around to scream in the ferret's general direction. He did not quite have the mettle to look her in the eye; she noticed, and her gaze seemed to grow colder. Although she did not deign to move even her head, her eyes followed the rat officer's every move, doing more to unnerve him than any growing potential for a sticky situation between himself and his superiors. The rat's voice raised in pitch and dropped in tone, becoming something of a violent whine. "Why d'yer have t'say that? I an't said nothin' like, only — only Kagan is gonna be waitin' an' all, an' with that bloody badger movin' so much faster'n we thought 'e would..."

"I see," said the ferretmaid without a single break in her remote demeanor.

"Well, what d'yer need five days for, any'ow?" the rat captain pressed into the brief silence that followed, no longer ranting as much as pleading. "I got my orders, too, an' Kagan wanted me back b'fore the enemy reached Mossflower..." he continued in this line for a few minutes, looking anywhere but the ferret's cooly calculating eyes.

"Then why don't you go, Captain, and leave me to my work? The toad king is very particular about manners; you are only capable of offending him with your presence, I assure you; in fact, I will recommend your removal from the area to Kagan as the best possible action: certainly you cannot be reprimanded for allowing me to ensure my mission is successful."  

"But my orders—!" the rat began in that horridly pleading whine, but he made the mistake of catching the ferret's eyes, and his voice died very quickly. He tore his gaze away and retreated to the other side of the camp, ostensibly by pretense of continuing to pace.

"Your orders must be flexible in regard to the satisfactory completion of your mission, surely?" the ferret offered, her tone now openly disdainful. "I have no need of you here, Captain. Go, rendezvous with the woodland force if you so desire to face the badger in combat."

Again, the rat captain was goaded into wailing, "but I 'aven't said that! Why d'yer always have t'say things like that? I 'aven't said nothin' like it!"

The ferret did not grace this with a reply. The rat wiped his blue, gnarled paws on his tattered pantaloons and darted a desperate glance at the scattering of vermin in various forms of repose; none offered a solution. He wasn't a well-liked captain, but even if he were, nobeast present had the stomach for addressing the ferret directly, or even drawing her icy attention.

"I got ter stay here with yew, there's got to be a guard in the area if'n y'need, I— I mean, jes' in case," the captain's game attempt at a reasonable tone of voice was met with the same indifferent coolness the ferret regarded everybeast with. "I'm only sayin', we took care o' them squirrels an' I thought— maybe that Kagan expected you— that Kagan expected to 'ave the squirrels and th'toads fixed at the same time, but it's been 'arf a season since those 'ares came up an' cleared out with the bushtails, and..." he struggled for a moment longer, then switched tactics with the sort of reckless desperation that might have earned him honors on a battlefield.

"Maybe if yew was to come back with us to th'main camp, y'could come back 'ere with a different guard, with soldiers who warn't s'posed ter be so far south o' 'ere a fortnight back..." he trailed off once more, this time in slow, sober acknowledgement of his impossible position. The rats around him knew it, too, he thought bitterly, but they didn't have anything to worry about because Kagan only punished the officers, and anyhow who here wanted to see that badger in battle again? There were many in the survivors of Trunn's horde who were desperate for revenge, desperate to the point of folly which appeared self-evident to even the slowest of vermin, but none of those were here. The rat was so busy fretting about picking which way he'd get killed that he almost missed the ferretmaid's response.

"Alright."

"What?"

"I will return with you to your commander's camp for the purpose of exchanging my personal guard," the ferret clarified, using her shoulders to push herself upright. Although none of the rats in the camp made a sound there was a slight, simultaneous sinking of ears, as if everybeast had, at once, released a breath of mixed relief and discontent.

"You... you will?" the rat captain could not quite believe his good fortune.

"I will." When it became apparent the rat had nothing more to say to this, the ferret continued, "I expect to leave at once."

"Oh— er— er— yeah, right," the captain stammered, and he turned to the task of kicking his guard into action. The ferret left him to it: it was another three hours before the rats caught up with her in the woodlands.

*

Vermilion, a cruel-faced dog-fox decorated heavily with the scars and pit-marks of past battles, watched the ferretmaid disappear westward into the woodlands, this time accompanied by a larger complement of vermin of her own choice. She did not complain about the rats originally sent as her guard, only appeared that morning in camp and told the fox commander that she would pick her own guard if he insisted on sending one with her. The entire process took less than a quarter hour; Vermilion had no doubt she would be back in the marsh and working on the toad king before three days passed. It did not bother him unduly that she would be so long at her task; if their ultimate plan of attack was to be of any lasting use, she could have all the time she wanted as far as Vermilion was concerned. Kagan would have it no other way.

With this thought in mind, Vermilion turned to contemplating the commanding captain originally sent as the ferret's guard commander. The rats had, with resounding success, dealt with the problem of the squirrel tribe living in the grove north of Salamandastron; that any hares were sent to the squirrels' aid came as a happy surprise, one made happier when the vermin realized just how many hares were away from the Mountain. Vermilion had been monitoring the squirrels and hares to the north extensively, and he was confident they would pose no threat when the vermin finally took back Salamandastron.

However, a failure to work with the ferretmaid — one of their most important allies, for the moment — represented a failing which the old fox knew Kagan would not tolerate. Vermilion was still trying to decide if the rat's success with the squirrels was enough to save him from the wrath of failing the toad mission when a weasel, wiry and narrow-eyed, appeared and saluted.

"Report from the woodland force," the weasel said when Vermilion lifted his extensive eyebrows.

"Inside," the fox ordered, and gestured the weasel into his tent, easily the largest and most expansive of all the tents dotted between the trees, too many to be visible from any one vantage point.

Once they were secluded in the fox's tent together the weasel dropped any pretense of formality and helped himself to the remains of a roast pigeon which Vermilion offered wordlessly.

"Everything goin' to plan so far, Leo," managed the weasel, and slopped wine in every direction when he attempted to guzzle it with a full mouth. "Sparkles didn't say as much but 'e was happy you sent 'im so many reinforcements — none of 'em expected that mangy badger to bring so many 'ares wit him, hellsteeth! Might 'ave caused some problems otherwise. Thanks, mate," he added, having demolished what was left of Vermilion's breakfast.

"Is that badger really so important to you?" Vermilion asked, lips curling upward in disdainful amusement.

"You don't know the half of it," the weasel spat, his good mood seemingly deserting him. "I'd give anything to see that striped monster hogtied and skinned alive. He ruined everything. Everything! That mountain is ours by right, we drove out the old badger and the 'ares, just because ole Tunn isn't around anymore don't change anythin'! I want that badger dead. I want him dead in the slowest, most agonizing way possible."

Vermilion watched his friend fume for a short while longer and only with great effort kept himself from laughing. He let the weasel off the hook and switched to business instead. "Are they still going through with the original plan? Has there been any decision regarding the Coalbrush tribe?"

"Yarr, s'far as I know the plan hasn't changed, but whatever new strategies the badger comes up with Sparkles will find a way around it — only thing he's good for," sneering, the weasel rummaged around in his jerkin and pulled out a battered scroll. "As for the Coalbrush, I've got a letter for you on that."

Vermilion read the scroll wordlessly, snorted when he came to the end of it, and chucked the scroll through the doorway of the tent and into the smoldering embers of the nearest campfire.

"Stay the night," he said, returning to his seat. "When you get back to the idjit's force tell him I'm not going to leave my command to some snot-nosed half-wit just because he's afraid to deal with a few foxes."

The weasel smirked and inclined his head shortly. "Can do, boss. Speaking of snot-nosed half-wits, did you ever deal wit' those toads like Kagan wanted?"

"Working on it. Say," Vermilion asked suddenly, a flicker of malice beneath his faint smile, "are you up for reeducating an officer, in the manner Kagan likes us to do? I need to deal with the morons meant to be keeping an eye on the squirrels up north but there's a small matter of incompetence that needs to be cleared up first. I do so hate getting my paws dirty when it's the blood of worthless beasts, don't you?"

"No," the weasel said, lips curling upwards with sadistic pleasure at the thought. "I have no problem gettin' my paws dirty. Who is it?"

Vermilion returned to his tent after pointing out the captain who had formerly maintained the ferretmaid's guard and sent the weasel on his merry way. He ignored the blubbering and screams that followed a few minutes later, pulling out a collection of scrolls and maps and staring down at them.

Vermin like his weasel friend were incapable of thinking through their rage enough to plan effectively, but Vermilion, a native of Mossflower, had not been a part of Ungatt Trunn's blue hordes; he harbored no overwhelming emotion to cloud his judgement. He was one of very few in command of the present operation who did not care one way or the other about the badger ruler of the mountain by the sea, and thinking of it — and that he might even consider going to the south to help deal with a few unruly foxes! — twisted Vermilion's face into a silent snarl.

No, he thought. I'm the only one who can see it through, this the most important operation of the entire strategy. And when it's over I'll deal with all the fools who think they can ride my tail through to the other side of victory; I'll kill them all, every single half-blue vermin who couldn't see how much he needed me until it's too late.

And then — then we'll see who is more capable of being master to the new hordes of the mountain: me, or Kagan? Vermilion's face relaxed into a calmer expression, though no less violent in intent; something between a sneer and a genuine smile. He had no doubt who was the better commander. The only thing left to do, then, was to win the Mountain, deal with the vermin who survived any fighting, and get rid of Kagan.

*

[The Skarzs]

This is cool; I really liked it. As to what you said, and I quote, "Do please critique the heck out of this and don't spare my feelings if anything stands out to you as something to be improved", I will oblige a little.
First off: I'm the only one who can see this it through
Wha. . .? Did I read that right? Yeah, it just looks like a bit of tired hand syndrome.

Second: The way you put some things in regular paragraphs should have been used in dialogue only.

Other than these, not much can be said against your story grammatically. It flowed well, there were some great sentences that described things nicely, and it reminded me of the actual books: a great compliment, if I may say so myself.

On to the story.
There were a couple things that I asked myself when reading this. Why did Brocktree insist on bringing a force so much larger than what he knew the enemy numbered? Did he not want to take chances despite his knowledge of the skill and fighting capabilities of his hares? (Or was it only for the sake of storyline?)
And one thing only a blacksmith might know. You said only Brocktree was working on the tools in his forge room: for the huge amount needed as you described, there should have been at least two hares helping the Badger Lord out.

Hope this hasn't crushed your dreams.

[Osu]

On the contrary; seems I've got a few things to fix, haha. Thank you for pointing them out to me!

Brocktree brought a few under 300 hares, and Trobee's force numbers just under 100; the enemy that they know of numbers around 600 ("thirty score"), so Brocktree will be still be outnumbered once they're all rubbing shoulders in the woodlands. I did sacrifice a certain amount of believability, to be honest, because I want Dotti to be severely outnumbered when the baddies come for the mountain, but the end of the book was pretty clear on Salamandastron having "legions" of hares. Bit of an awkward problem to write around, haha.

Thanks again for your comment!

[The Skarzs]

Oh, I thought it said three score. Oops.

[Osu]

Gosh, it's been so long since I looked at this... 

I'm leaving the internet for a while, but I've got this story totally outlined.  Would anybody like to finish it?  You can go by my notes or just continue on with your own ideas, whatever works.  I just hate to leave this unfinished, haha.

[Captain Tammo]

I'd love to see the notes you have! Maybe I'll pick this one up down the road? You've got some really great stuff here.